Ivan, the coachman, who after having been executioner had becomesurgeon, had applied compresses of salt and water to heal up thescarred shoulders of his victim. Gregory had remained three days inthe infirmary, and during this time he had turned over in his mindevery possible means of vengeance. Then at the end of three days,being healed, he had returned to his duty, and soon everyone excepthe had forgotten the punishment. If Gregory had been a real Russian,he would soon have forgotten it all; for this punishment is toofamiliar to the rough Muscovite for him to remember it long and withrancour. Gregory, as we have said, had Greek blood in his veins; hedissembled and remembered. Although Gregory was a serf, his dutieshad little by little brought him into greater familiarity with thegeneral than any of the other servants. Besides, in every country inthe world barbers have great licence with those they shave; this isperhaps due to the fact that a man is instinctively more gracious toanother who for ten minutes every day holds his life in his hands.Gregory rejoiced in the immunity of his profession, and it nearlyalways happened that the barber's daily operation on the general'schin passed in conversation, of which he bore the chief part.

One day the general had to attend a review: he sent for Gregorybefore daybreak, and as the barber was passing the razor as gently aspossible over his master's cheek, the conversation fell, or morelikely was led, on Foedor. The barber praised him highly, and thisnaturally caused his master to ask him, remembering the correctionthe young aide-decamp had superintended, if he could not find somefault in this model of perfection that might counterbalance so manygood qualities. Gregory replied that with the exception of pride hethought Foedor irreproachable.

"Pride?" asked the astonished general. "That is a failing from whichI should have thought him most free."

"Perhaps I should have said ambition," replied Gregory.

"Ambition!" said the general. "It does not seem to me that he hasgiven much proof of ambition in entering my service; for after hisachievements in the last campaign he might easily have aspired to thehonour of a place in the emperor's household."

"Oh yes, he is ambitious," said Gregory, smiling. "One man'sambition is for high position, another's an illustrious alliance: theformer will owe everything to himself, the latter will make astepping-stone of his wife, then they raise their eyes higher thanthey should."

"What do you mean to suggest?" said the general, beginning to seewhat Gregory was aiming at.

"I mean, your excellency," replied Gregory, "there are many men who,owing to the kindness shown them by others, forget their position andaspire to a more exalted one; having already been placed so high,their heads are turned."

"Gregory," cried the general, "believe me, you are getting into ascrape; for you are making an accusation, and if I take any notice ofit, you will have to prove your words."

"By St. Basilius, general, it is no scrape when you have truth onyour side; for I have said nothing I am not ready to prove."

"Then," said the general, "you persist in declaring that Foedor lovesmy daughter?"

"Ah! I have not said that: it is your excellency. I have not namedthe lady Vaninka," said Gregory, with the duplicity of his nation.

"But you meant it, did you not? Come, contrary to your custom, replyfrankly."

"It is true, your excellency; it is what I meant."

"And, according to you, my daughter reciprocates the passion, nodoubt?"

"I fear so, your excellency."

"And what makes you think this, say?"

"First, Mr. Foedor never misses a chance of speaking to the ladyVaninka."

"He is in the same house with her, would you have him avoid her?"

"When the lady Vaninka returns late, and when perchance Mr. Foedorhas not accompanied you, whatever the hour Mr. Foedor is there,ready, to help her out of the carriage."

"Foedor attends me, it is his duty," said the general, beginning tobelieve that the serf's suspicions were founded on slight grounds."He waits for me," he, continued, "because when I return, at any hourof the day or night, I may have orders to give him."

"Not a day passes without Mr. Foedor going into my lady Vaninka'sroom, although such a favour is not usually granted to a young man ina house like that of your excellency."

"Usually it is I who send him to her," said the general.

"Yes, in the daytime," replied Gregory, "but at night?"

"At night!" cried the general, rising to his feet, and turning sopale that, after a moment, he was forced to lean for support on atable.

"Yes, at night, your excellency," answered Gregory quietly; "andsince, as you say, I have begun to mix myself up in a bad business, Imust go on with it; besides, even if there were to result from itanother punishment for me, even more terrible than that I havealready endured, I should not allow so good, a master to be deceivedany longer."

"Be very careful about what you are going to say, slave; for I knowthe men of your nation. Take care, if the accusation you are makingby way of revenge is not supported by visible, palpable, and positiveproofs, you shall be punished as an infamous slanderer."

"To that I agree," said Gregory.

"Do you affirm that you have seen Foedor enter my daughter's chamberat night?"

"I do not say that I have seen him enter it, your excellency. I saythat I have seen him come out."

"When was that?"

"A quarter of an hour ago, when I was on my way to your excellency."

"You lie!" said the general, raising his fist.

"This is not our agreement, your excellency," said the slave, drawingback. "I am only to be punished if I fail to give proofs."

"But what are your proofs?"

"I have told you."

"And do you expect me to believe your word alone?"

"No; but I expect you to believe your own eyes."

"How?"

"The first time that Mr. Foedor is in my lady Vaninka's room aftermidnight, I shall come to find your excellency, and then you canjudge for yourself if I lie; but up to the present, your excellency,all the conditions of the service I wish to render you are to mydisadvantage."

"In what way?"

"Well, if I fail to give proofs, I am to be treated as an infamousslanderer; but if I give them, what advantage shall I gain?"

"A thousand roubles and your freedom."

"That is a bargain, then, your excellency," replied Gregory quietly,replacing the razors on the general's toilet-table, "and I hope thatbefore a week has passed you will be more just to me than you arenow."

With these words the slave left the room, leaving the generalconvinced by his confidence that some dreadful misfortune threatenedhim.

From this time onward, as might be expected, the general weighedevery word and noticed every gesture which passed between Vaninka andFoedor in his presence; but he saw nothing to confirm his suspicionson the part of the aide-de-camp or of his daughter; on the contrary,Vaninka seemed colder and more reserved than ever.

A week passed in this way. About two o'clock in the morning of theninth day, someone knocked at the general's door. It was Gregory.

The general turned pale, dressed himself without uttering a word, andfollowed the slave to the door of Vaninka's room. Having arrivedthere, with a motion of his hand he dismissed the informer, who,instead of retiring in obedience to this mute command, hid himself inthe corner of the corridor.

When the general believed himself to be alone, he knocked once; butall was silent. This silence, however, proved nothing; for Vaninkamight be asleep. He knocked a second time, and the young girl, in aperfectly calm voice, asked, "Who is there?"

"It is I," said the general, in a voice trembling with emotion.

"Annouschka!" said the girl to her foster-sister, who slept in theadjoining room, "open the door to my father. Forgive me, father,"she continued; "but Annouschka is dressing, and will be with you in amoment."

The general waited patiently, for he could discover no trace ofemotion in his daughter's voice, and he hoped that Gregory had beenmistaken.

In a few moments the door opened, and the general went in, and cast along look around him; there was no one in this first apartment.

Vaninka was in bed, paler perhaps than usual, but quite calm, withthe loving smile on her lips with which she always welcomed herfather.

"To what fortunate circumstance," asked the young girl in her softesttones, "do I owe the pleasure of seeing you at so late an hour?"

"I wished to speak to you about a very important matter," said thegeneral, "and however late it was, I thought you would forgive me fordisturbing you."

"My father will always be welcome in his daughter's room, at whateverhour of the day or night he presents himself there."

The general cast another searching look round, and was convinced thatit was impossible for a man to be concealed in the first room--butthe second still remained.

"I am listening," said Vaninka, after a moment of silence.

"Yes, but we are not alone," replied the general, "and it isimportant that no other ears should hear what I have to say to you."

"Annauschka, as you know, is my foster-sister," said Vaninka.

"That makes no difference," said the general, going candle in handinto the next room, which was somewhat smaller than his daughter's."Annouschka," said he, "watch in the corridor and see that no oneoverhears us."

As he spoke these words, the general threw the same scrutinizingglance all round the room, but with the exception of the young girlthere was no one there.

Annouschka obeyed, and the general followed her out, and, lookingeagerly round for the last time, re-entered his daughter's room, andseated himself on the foot of her bed. Annouschka, at a sign fromher mistress, left her alone with her father. The general held outhis hand to Vaninka, and she took it without hesitation.

"My child," said the general, "I have to speak to you about a veryimportant matter."

"What is it, father?" said Vaninka.

"You will soon be eighteen," continued the general, "and that is theage at which the daughters of the Russian nobility usually marry."The general paused for a moment to watch the effect of these wordsupon Vaninka, but her hand rested motionless in his. "For the lastyear your hand has been engaged by me," continued the general.

"May I know to whom?" asked Vaninka coldly.

"To the son of the Councillor-in-Ordinary," replied the general."What is your opinion of him?"

"He is a worthy and noble young man, I am told, but I can have formedno opinion except from hearsay. Has he not been in garrison atMoscow for the last three months?"

"Yes," said the general, "but in three months' time he shouldreturn."

Vaninka remained silent.

"Have you nothing to say in reply?" asked the general.

"Nothing, father; but I have a favour to ask of you."

"What is it?"

"I do not wish to marry until I am twenty years old."

"Why not?"

"I have taken a vow to that effect."

"But if circumstances demanded the breaking of this vow, and made thecelebration of this marriage imperatively necessary?"

"What circumstances?" asked Vaninka.

"Foedor loves you," said the general, looking steadily at Vaninka.

"I know that," said Vaninka, with as little emotion as if thequestion did not concern her.

"You know that!" cried the general.

"Yes; he has told me so."

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"And you replied--?"

"That he must leave here at once."

"And he consented?"

"Yes, father."

"When does he go?"

"He has gone."

"How can that be?" said the general: "he only left me at teno'clock."

"And he left me at midnight," said Vaninka.

"Ah!" said the general, drawing a deep breath of relief, "you are anoble girl, Vaninka, and I grant you what you ask-two years more.But remember it is the emperor who has decided upon this marriage."

"My father will do me the justice to believe that I am too submissivea daughter to be a rebellious subject."

"Excellent, Vaninka, excellent," said the general. "So, then, poorFoedor has told you all?"

"Yes," said Vaninka.

"You knew that he addressed himself to me first?"

"I knew it."

"Then it was from him that you heard that your hand was engaged?"

"It was from him."

"And he consented to leave you? He is a good and noble young man,who shall always be under my protection wherever he goes. Oh, if myword had not been given, I love him so much that, supposing you didnot dislike him, I should have given him your hand."

"And you cannot recall your promise?" asked Vaninka.

"Impossible," said the general.

"Well, then, I submit to my father's will," said Vaninka.

"That is spoken like my daughter," said the general, embracing her."Farewell, Vaninka; I do not ask if you love him. You have bothdone your duty, and I have nothing more to exact."

With these words, he rose and left the room. Annouschka was in thecorridor; the general signed to her that she might go in again, andwent on his way. At the door of his room he found Gregory waitingfor him.

"Well, your excellency?" he asked.

"Well," said the general, "you are both right and wrong. Foedorloves my daughter, but my daughter does not love him. He went intomy daughter's room at eleven o'clock, but at midnight he left her forever. No matter, come to me tomorrow, and you shall have yourthousand roubles and your liberty."

Gregory went off, dumb with astonishment.

Meanwhile, Annouschka had re-entered her mistress's room, as she hadbeen ordered, and closed the door carefully behind her.

Vaninka immediately sprang out of bed and went to the door, listeningto the retreating footsteps of the general. When they had ceased tobe heard, she rushed into Annouschka's room, and both began to pullaside a bundle of linen, thrown down, as if by accident, into theembrasure of a window. Under the linen was a large chest with aspring lock. Annouschka pressed a button, Vaninka raised the lid.The two women uttered a loud cry: the chest was now a coffin; theyoung officer, stifled for want of air, lay dead within.

For a long time the two women hoped it was only a swoon. Annouschkasprinkled his face with water; Vaninka put salts to his nose. Allwas in vain. During the long conversation which the general had hadwith his daughter, and which had lasted more than half an hour,Foedor, unable to get out of the chest, as the lid was closed by aspring, had died for want of air. The position of the two girls shutup with a corpse was frightful. Annouschka saw Siberia close athand; Vaninka, to do her justice, thought of nothing but Foedor.Both were in despair. However, as the despair of the maid was moreselfish than that of her mistress, it was Annouschka who firstthought of a plan of escaping from the situation in which they wereplaced.

"My lady," she cried suddenly, "we are saved." Vaninka raised herhead and looked at her attendant with her eyes bathed in tears.

"Saved?" said she, "saved? We are, perhaps, but Foedor!"

"Listen now," said Annouschka: "your position is terrible, I grantthat, and your grief is great; but your grief could be greater andyour position more terrible still. If the general knew this."

"What difference would it make to me?" said Vaninka. "I shall weepfor him before the whole world."

"Yes, but you will be dishonoured before the whole world! To-morrowyour slaves, and the day after all St. Petersburg, will know that aman died of suffocation while concealed in your chamber. Reflect, mylady: your honour is the honour of your father, the honour of yourfamily."

"You are right," said Vaninka, shaking her head, as if to dispersethe gloomy thoughts that burdened her brain,--"you are right, butwhat must we do?"

"Does my lady know my brother Ivan?"

"Yes."

"We must tell him all."

"Of what are you thinking?" cried Vaninka. "To confide in a man? Aman, do I say? A serf! a slave!"

"The lower the position of the serf and slave, the safer will oursecret be, since he will have everything to gain by keeping faithwith us."

"Your brother is a drunkard," said Vaninka, with mingled fear anddisgust.

"That is true," said Annouschka; "but where will you find a slavewho is not? My brother gets drunk less than most, and is thereforemore to be trusted than the others. Besides, in the position inwhich we are we must risk something."

"You are right," said Vaninka, recovering her usual resolution, whichalways grew in the presence of danger. "Go and seek your brother."

"We can do nothing this morning," said Annouschka, drawing back thewindow curtains. "Look, the dawn is breaking."

"But what can we do with the body of this unhappy man?" criedVaninka.

"It must remain hidden where it is all day, and this evening, whileyou are at the Court entertainment, my brother shall remove it."

Vaninka turned deadly pale, but, spurred on by the danger, she wentresolutely up to the body of her lover; then, lifting it by theshoulders, while her maid raised it by the legs, she laid it oncemore in the chest. Then Annouschka shut down the lid, locked thechest, and put the key into her breast. Then both threw back thelinen which had hidden it from the eyes of the general. Day dawned,as might be expected, ere sleep visited the eyes of Vaninka.

She went down, however, at the breakfast hour; for she did not wishto arouse the slightest suspicion in her father's mind. Only itmight have been thought from her pallor that she had risen from thegrave, but the general attributed this to the nocturnal disturbanceof which he had been the cause.

Luck had served Vaninka wonderfully in prompting her to say thatFoedor had already gone; for not only did the general feel nosurprise when he did not appear, but his very absence was a proof ofhis daughter's innocence. The general gave a pretext for his aide-de-camp's absence by saying that he had sent him on a mission. Asfor Vaninka, she remained out of her room till it was time to dress.A week before, she had been at the Court entertainment with Foedor.

Vaninka might have excused herself from accompanying her father byfeigning some slight indisposition, but two considerations made herfear to act thus: the first was the fear of making the generalanxious, and perhaps of making him remain at home himself, whichwould make the removal of the corpse more difficult; the second wasthe fear of meeting Ivan and having to blush before a slave. Shepreferred, therefore, to make a superhuman effort to control herself;and, going up again into her room, accompanied by her faithfulAnnouschka, she began to dress with as much care as if her heart werefull of joy. When this cruel business was finished, she orderedAnnouschka to shut the door; for she wished to see Foedor once more,and to bid a last farewell to him who had been her lover. Annouschkaobeyed; and Vaninka, with flowers in her hair and her breast coveredwith jewels, glided like a phantom into her servant's room.

Annouschka again opened the chest, and Vaninka, without shedding atear, without breathing a sigh, with the profound and death-like calmof despair, leant down towards Foedor and took off a plain ring whichthe young man had on his finger, placed it on her own, between twomagnificent rings, then kissing him on the brow, she said, "Goodbye,my betrothed."

At this moment she heard steps approaching. It was a groom of thechambers coming from the general to ask if she were ready.Annouschka let the lid of the chest fall, and Vaninka going herselfto open the door, followed the messenger, who walked before her,lighting the way.

Such was her trust in her foster-sister that she left her toaccomplish the dark and terrible task with which she had burdenedherself.

A minute later, Annouschka saw the carriage containing the generaland his daughter leave by the main gate of the hotel.

She let half an hour go by, and then went down to look for Ivan. Shefound him drinking with Gregory, with whom the general had kept hisword, and who had received the same day one thousand roubles and hisliberty. Fortunately, the revellers were only beginning theirrejoicings, and Ivan in consequence was sober enough for his sisterto entrust her secret to him without hesitation.

Ivan followed Annouschka into the chamber of her mistress. There shereminded him of all that Vaninka, haughty but generous, had allowedhis sister to do for him. The, few glasses of brandy Ivan hadalready swallowed had predisposed him to gratitude (the drunkennessof the Russian is essentially tender). Ivan protested his devotionso warmly that Annouschka hesitated no longer, and, raising the lidof the chest, showed him the corpse of Foedor. At this terriblesight Ivan remained an instant motionless, but he soon began tocalculate how much money and how many benefits the possession of sucha secret would bring him. He swore by the most solemn oaths never tobetray his mistress, and offered, as Annouschka had hoped, to disposeof the body of the unfortunate aide-decamp.

The thing was easily done. Instead of returning to drink withGregory and his comrades, Ivan went to prepare a sledge, filled itwith straw, and hid at the bottom an iron crowbar. He brought thisto the outside gate, and assuring himself he was not being spiedupon, he raised the body of the dead man in his arms, hid it underthe straw, and sat down above it. He had the gate of the hotelopened, followed Niewski Street as far as the Zunamenie Church,passed through the shops in the Rejestwenskoi district, drove thesledge out on to the frozen Neva, and halted in the middle of theriver, in front of the deserted church of Ste. Madeleine. There,protected by the solitude and darkness, hidden behind the black massof his sledge, he began to break the ice, which was fifteen inchesthick, with his pick. When he had made a large enough hole, hesearched the body of Foedor, took all the money he had about him, andslipped the body head foremost through the opening he had made. Hethen made his way back to the hotel, while the imprisoned current ofthe Neva bore away the corpse towards the Gulf of Finland. An hourafter, a new crust of ice had formed, and not even a trace of theopening made by Ivan remained.

At midnight Vaninka returned with her father. A hidden fever hadbeen consuming her all the evening: never had she looked so lovely,and she had been overwhelmed by the homage of the most distinguishednobles and courtiers. When she returned, she found Annouschka in thevestibule waiting to take her cloak. As she gave it to her, Vaninkasent her one of those questioning glances that seem to express somuch. "It is done," said the girl in a low voice. Vaninka breatheda sigh of relief, as if a mountain had been removed from her breast.Great as was her self-control, she could no longer bear her father'spresence, and excused herself from remaining to supper with him, onthe plea of the fatigues of the evening. Vaninka was no sooner inher room, with the door once closed, than she tore the flowers fromher hair, the necklace from her throat, cut with scissors the corsetswhich suffocated her, and then, throwing herself on her bed, she gaveway to her grief. Annouschka thanked God for this outburst; hermistress's calmness had frightened her more than her despair. Thefirst crisis over, Vaninka was able to pray. She spent an hour onher knees, then, yielding to the entreaties of her faithfulattendant, went to bed. Annouschka sat down at the foot of the bed.

Neither slept, but when day came the tears which Vaninka had shed hadcalmed her.

Annouschka was instructed to reward her brother. Too large a sumgiven to a slave at once might have aroused suspicion, thereforeAnnouschka contented herself with telling Ivan that when he had needof money he had only to ask her for it.

Gregory, profiting by his liberty and wishing to make use of histhousand roubles, bought a little tavern on the outskirts of thetown, where, thanks to his address and to the acquaintances he hadamong the servants in the great households of St. Petersburg, hebegan to develop an excellent business, so that in a short time theRed House (which was the name and colour of Gregory's establishment)had a great reputation. Another man took over his duties about theperson of the general, and but for Foedor's absence everythingreturned to its usual routine in the house of Count Tchermayloff.

Two months went by in this way, without anybody having the leastsuspicion of what had happened, when one morning before the usualbreakfast-hour the general begged his daughter to come down to hisroom. Vaninka trembled with fear, for since that fatal nighteverything terrified her. She obeyed her father, and collecting allher strength, made her way to his chamber, The count was alone, butat the first glance Vaninka saw she had nothing to fear from thisinterview: the general was waiting for her with that paternal smilewhich was the usual expression of his countenance when in hisdaughter's presence.

She approached, therefore, with her usual calmness, and, stoopingdown towards the general, gave him her forehead to kiss.

He motioned to her to sit down, and gave her an open letter. Vaninkalooked at him for a moment in surprise, then turned her eyes to theletter.

It contained the news of the death of the man to whom her hand hadbeen promised: he had been killed in a duel.

The general watched the effect of the letter on his daughter's face,and great as was Vaninka's self-control, so many different thoughts,such bitter regret, such poignant remorse assailed her when shelearnt that she was now free again, that she could not entirelyconceal her emotion. The general noticed it, and attributed it tothe love which he had for a long time suspected his daughter felt forthe young aide-de-camp.

"Well," he said, smiling, "I see it is all for the best."

"How is that, father?" asked Vaninka.

"Doubtless," said the general. "Did not Foedor leave because heloved you?"

"Yes," murmured the young girl.

"Well, now he may return," said the general.

Vaninka remained silent, her eyes fixed, her lips trembling.

"Return!" she said, after a moment's silence.

"Yes, certainly return. We shall be most unfortunate," continued thegeneral, smiling, "if we cannot find someone in the house who knowswhere he is. Come, Vaninka, tell me the place of his exile, and Iwill undertake the rest."

"What!" said the general, "he has sent you no news since the day heleft?"

Vaninka shook her head in denial. She was so heart-broken that shecould not speak.

The general in his turn became gloomy. "Do you fear some misfortune,then?" said he.

"I fear that I shall never be happy again on earth," cried Vaninka,giving way under the pressure of her grief; then she continued atonce, "Let me retire, father; I am ashamed of what I have said."

The general, who saw nothing in this exclamation beyond regret forhaving allowed the confession of her love to escape her, kissed hisdaughter on the brow and allowed her to retire. He hoped that, inspite of the mournful way in which Vaninka had spoken of Foedor, thatit would be possible to find him. The same day he went to theemperor and told him of the love of Foedor for his daughter, andrequested, since death had freed her from her first engagement, thathe might dispose of her hand. The emperor consented, and the generalthen solicited a further favour. Paul was in one of his kindlymoods, and showed himself disposed to grant it. The general told himthat Foedor had disappeared for two months; that everyone, even hisdaughter, was ignorant of his whereabouts, and begged him to haveinquiries made. The emperor immediately sent for the chief ofpolice, and gave him the necessary orders.

Six weeks went by without any result. Vaninka, since the day whenthe letter came, was sadder and more melancholy than ever. Vainlyfrom time to time the general tried to make her more hopeful.Vaninka only shook her head and withdrew. The general ceased tospeak, of Foedor.

But it was not the same among the household. The young aide-de-camphad been popular with the servants, and, with the exception ofGregory, there was not a soul who wished him harm, so that, when itbecame known that he had not been sent on a mission, but haddisappeared, the matter became the constant subject of conversationin the antechamber, the kitchen, and the stables. There was anotherplace where people busied themselves about it a great deal--this wasthe Red House.

From the day when he heard of Foedor's mysterious departure Gregoryhad his suspicions. He was sure that he had seen Foedor enterVaninka's room, and unless he had gone out while he was going to seekthe general, he did not understand why the latter had not found himin his daughter's room. Another thing occupied his mind, which itseemed to him might perhaps have some connection with this event--theamount of money Ivan had been spending since that time, a veryextraordinary amount for a slave. This slave, however, was thebrother of Vaninka's cherished foster-sister, so that, without beingsure, Gregory already suspected the source from whence this moneycame. Another thing confirmed him in his suspicions, which was thatIvan, who had not only remained his most faithful friend, but hadbecome one of his best customers, never spoke of Foedor, held histongue if he were mentioned in his presence, and to all questions,however pressing they were, made but one answer: "Let us speak ofsomething else."

In the meantime the Feast of Kings arrived. This is a great day inSt. Petersburg, for it is also the day for blessing the waters.

As Vaninka had been present at the ceremony, and was fatigued afterstanding for two hours on the Neva, the general did not go out thatevening, and gave Ivan leave to do so. Ivan profited by thepermission to go to the Red House.

There was a numerous company there, and Ivan was welcomed; for it wasknown that he generally came with full pockets. This time he did notbelie his reputation, and had scarcely arrived before he made thesorok-kopecks ring, to the great envy of his companions.

At this warning sound Gregory hastened up with all possibledeference, a bottle of brandy in each hand; for he knew that whenIvan summoned him he gained in two ways, as innkeeper and as booncompanion. Ivan did not disappoint these hopes, and Gregory wasinvited to share in the entertainment. The conversation turned onslavery, and some of the unhappy men, who had only four days in theyear of respite from their eternal labour, talked loudly of thehappiness Gregory had enjoyed since he had obtained his freedom.

"Bah!" said Ivan, on whom the brandy had begun to take effect, "thereare some slaves who are freer than their masters."

"What do you mean?" said Gregory, pouring him out another glass ofbrandy.

"I meant to say happier," said Ivan quickly.

"It is difficult to prove that," said Gregory doubtingly.

"Why difficult? Our masters, the moment they are born, are put intothe hands of two or three pedants, one French, another German, and athird English, and whether they like them or not, they must becontent with their society till they are seventeen, and whether theywish to or not, must learn three barbarous languages, at the expenseof our noble Russian tongue, which they have sometimes completelyforgotten by the time the others are acquired. Again, if one of themwishes for some career, he must become a soldier: if he is asublieutenant, he is the slave of the lieutenant; if he is alieutenant, he is the slave of the captain, and the captain of themajor, and so on up to the emperor, who is nobody's slave, but whoone fine day is surprised at the table, while walking, or in his bed,and is poisoned, stabbed, or strangled. If he chooses a civilcareer, it is much the same. He marries a wife, and does not loveher; children come to him he knows not how, whom he has to providefor; he must struggle incessantly to provide for his family if he ispoor, and if he is rich to prevent himself being robbed by hissteward and cheated by his tenants. Is this life? While we,gentlemen, we are born, and that is the only pain we cost ourmothers--all the rest is the master's concern. He provides for us,he chooses our calling, always easy enough to learn if we are notquite idiots. Are we ill? His doctor attends us gratis; it is aloss to him if we die. Are we well? We have our four certain mealsa day, and a good stove to sleep near at night. Do we fall in love?There is never any hindrance to our marriage, if the woman loves us;the master himself asks us to hasten our marriage, for he wishes usto have as many children as possible. And when the children areborn, he does for them in their turn all he has done for us. Can youfind me many great lords as happy as their slaves?"

"All this is true," said Gregory, pouring him out another glass ofbrandy; "but, after all, you are not free."

"Free to do what?" asked Ivan.

"Free to go where you will and when you will."

"I am as free as the air," replied Ivan.

"Nonsense!" said Gregory.

"Free as air, I tell you; for I have good masters, and above all agood mistress," continued Ivan, with a significant smile, "and I haveonly to ask and it is done."

"What! if after having got drunk here to-day, you asked to come backto-morrow to get drunk again?" said Gregory, who in his challenge toIvan did not forget his own interests,--"if you asked that?"

"I should come back again," said Ivan.

"To-morrow?" said Gregory.

"To-morrow, the day after, every day if I liked...."

"The fact is, Ivan is our young lady's favourite," said another ofthe count's slaves who was present, profiting by his comrade Ivan'sliberality.

"It is all the same," said Gregory; "for supposing such permissionwere given you, money would soon run short."

"Never!" said Ivan, swallowing another glass of brandy, "never willIvan want for money as long as there is a kopeck in my lady's purse."

"I did not find her so liberal," said Gregory bitterly.

"Oh, you forget, my friend; you know well she does not reckon withher friends: remember the strokes of the knout."

"I have no wish to speak about that," said Gregory. "I know that sheis generous with blows, but her money is another thing. I have neverseen the colour of that."

"Well, would you like to see the colour of mine?" said Ivan, gettingmore and more drunk. "See here, here are kopecks, sorok-kopecks, bluenotes worth five roubles, red notes worth twenty five roubles, andto-morrow, if you like, I will show you white notes worth fiftyroubles. A health to my lady Vaninka!" And Ivan held out his glassagain, and Gregory filled it to the brim.

"But does money," said Gregory, pressing Ivan more and more,--"doesmoney make up for scorn?"

"Scorn!" said Ivan,--"scorn! Who scorns me? Do you, because you arefree? Fine freedom! I would rather be a well-fed slave than a freeman dying of hunger."

"For that reason or for some other," said Ivan; "but, in short, thatis the case."

"Yes; but if your sister should die?" said Gregory. "Ah!"

"If my sister should die, that would be a pity, for she is a goodgirl. I drink to her health! But if she should die, that would makeno difference. I am respected for myself; they respect me becausethey fear me."

"Fear my lord Ivan!" said Gregory, with a loud laugh. "It follows,then, that if my lord Ivan were tired of receiving orders, and gavethem in his turn, my lord Ivan would be obeyed."

"Yes," said the slaves, who had drunk so much that they could onlyanswer in monosyllables.

"Well, I no longer say 'perhaps,' I now say 'for certain.'"

"Oh, I should like to see that," said Gregory; "I would givesomething to see that."

"Well, send away these fellows, who are getting drunk like pigs, andfor nothing, you will find."

"For nothing?" said Gregory. "You are jesting. Do you think Ishould give them drink for nothing?"

"Well, we shall see. How much would be their score, for youratrocious brandy, if they drank from now till midnight, when you areobliged to shut up your tavern?"

"Not less than twenty roubles."

"Here are thirty; turn there out, and let us remain by ourselves."

"Friends," said Gregory, taking out his watch as if to look at thetime, "it is just upon midnight; you know the governor's orders, soyou must go." The men, habituated like all Russians to passiveobedience, went without a murmur, and Gregory found himself alonewith Ivan and the two other slaves of the general.

"Well, here we are alone," said Gregory. "What do you mean to do?"

"Well, what would you say," replied Ivan, "if in spite of the latehour and the cold, and in spite of the fact that we are only slaves,my lady were to leave her father's house and come to drink ourhealths?"

"I would say that you ought to take advantage of it," said Gregory,shrugging his shoulders, "and tell her to bring at the same time abottle of brandy. There is probably better brandy in the general'scellar than in mine."

"There is better," said Ivan, as if he was perfectly sure of it, "andmy lady shall bring you a bottle of it."

"You are mad!" said Gregory.

"He is mad!" repeated the other two slaves mechanically.

"Oh, I am mad?" said Ivan. "Well, will you take a wager?"

"What will you wager?"

"Two hundred roubles against a year of free drinking in your inn."

"Done!" said Gregory.

"Are your comrades included?" said the two moujiks.

"They are included," said Ivan, "and in consideration of them we willreduce the time to six months. Is that agreed?"

"It is agreed," said Gregory.

The two who were making the wager shook hands, and the agreement wasperfected. Then, with an air of confidence, assumed to confound thewitnesses of this strange scene, Ivan wrapped himself in the fur coatwhich, like a cautious man, he had spread on the stove, and went out.

At the end of half an hour he reappeared.

"Well!" cried Gregory and the two slaves together.

"She is following," said Ivan.

The three tipplers looked at one another in amazement, but Ivanquietly returned to his place in the middle of them, poured out a newbumper, and raising his glass, cried--

"To my lady's health! It is the least we can do when she is kindenough to come and join us on so cold a night, when the snow isfalling fast."

"Annouschka," said a voice outside, "knock at this door and askGregory if he has not some of our servants with him."

Gregory and the two other slaves looked at one another, stupefied:they had recognised Vaninka's voice. As for Ivan, he flung himselfback in his chair, balancing himself with marvellous impertinence.

Annouschka opened the door, and they could see, as Ivan had said,that the snow was falling heavily.

"Yes, madam," said the girl; "my brother is there, with Daniel andAlexis."

Vaninka entered.

"My friends," said she, with a strange smile, "I am told that youwere drinking my health, and I have come to bring you something todrink it again. Here is a bottle of old French brandy which I havechosen for you from my father's cellar. Hold out your glasses."

Gregory and the slaves obeyed with the slowness and hesitation ofastonishment, while Ivan held out his glass with the utmosteffrontery.

Vaninka filled them to the brim herself, and then, as they hesitatedto drink, "Come, drink to my health, friends," said she.

"Hurrah!" cried the drinkers, reassured by the kind and familiar toneof their noble visitor, as they emptied their glasses at a draught.

Vaninka at once poured them out another glass; then putting thebottle on the table, "Empty the bottle, my friends," said she, "anddo not trouble about me. Annouschka and I, with the permission 2668of the master of the house, will sit near the stove till the storm isover."

Gregory tried to rise and place stools near the stove, but whether hewas quite drunk or whether some narcotic had been mixed with thebrandy, he fell back on his seat, trying to stammer out an excuse.

"It is all right," said Vaninka: "do not disturb yourselves; drink,my friends, drink."

The revellers profited by this permission, and each emptied the glassbefore him. Scarcely had Gregory emptied his before he fell forwardon the table.

"Good!" said Vaninka to her maid in a low voice: "the opium is takingeffect."

"What do you mean to do?" said Annouschka.

"You will soon see," was the answer.

The two moujiks followed the example of the master of the house, andfell down side by side on the ground. Ivan was left strugglingagainst sleep, and trying to sing a drinking song; but soon histongue refused to obey him, his eyes closed in spite of him, andseeking the tune that escaped him, and muttering words he was unableto pronounce, he fell fast asleep near his companions.

Immediately Vaninka rose, fixed them with flashing eyes, and calledthem by name one after another. There was no response.

Then she clapped her hands and cried joyfully, "The moment has come!"Going to the back of the room, she brought thence an armful of straw,placed it in a corner of the room, and did the same in the othercorners. She then took a flaming brand from the stove and set firein succession to the four corners of the room.

"What are you doing?" said Annouschka, wild with terror, trying tostop her.

"I am going to bury our secret in the ashes of this house," answeredVaninka.

"But my brother, my poor brother!" said the girl.

"Your brother is a wretch who has betrayed me, and we are lost if wedo not destroy him."

"Oh, my brother, my poor brother!"

"You can die with him if you like," said Vaninka, accompanying theproposal with a smile which showed she would not have been sorry ifAnnouschka had carried sisterly affection to that length.

"But look at the fire, madam--the fire!"

"Let us go, then," said Vaninka; and, dragging out the heart-brokengirl, she locked the door behind her and threw the key far away intothe snow.

"In the name of Heaven," said Annouschka, "let us go home quickly: Icannot gaze upon this awful sight!"

"No, let us stay here!" said Vaninka, holding her back with a graspof almost masculine strength. "Let us stay until the house falls inon them, so that we may be certain that not one of them escapes."

"Oh, my God!" cried Annouschka, falling on her knees, "have mercyupon my poor brother, for death will hurry him unprepared into Thypresence."

"Yes, yes, pray; that is right," said Vaninka. "I wish to destroytheir bodies, not their souls."

Vaninka stood motionless, her arms crossed, brilliantly lit up by theflames, while her attendant prayed. The fire did not last long: thehouse was wooden, with the crevices filled with oakum, like all thoseof Russian peasants, so that the flames, creeping out at the fourcorners, soon made great headway, and, fanned by the wind, spreadrapidly to all parts of the building. Vaninka followed the progressof the fire with blazing eyes, fearing to see some half-burntspectral shape rush out of the flames. At last the roof fell in, andVaninka, relieved of all fear, then at last made her way to thegeneral's house, into which the two women entered without being seen,thanks to the permission Annouschka had to go out at any hour of theday or night.

The next morning the sole topic of conversation in St. Petersburg wasthe fire at the Red House. Four half-consumed corpses were dug outfrom beneath the ruins, and as three of the general's slaves weremissing, he had no doubt that the unrecognisable bodies were those ofIvan, Daniel, and Alexis: as for the fourth, it was certainly that ofGregory.

The cause of the fire remained a secret from everyone: the house wassolitary, and the snowstorm so violent that nobody had met the twowomen on the deserted road. Vaninka was sure of her maid. Hersecret then had perished with Ivan. But now remorse took the placeof fear: the young girl who was so pitiless and inflexible in theexecution of the deed quailed at its remembrance. It seemed to herthat by revealing the secret of her crime to a priest, she would berelieved of her terrible burden. She therefore sought a confessorrenowned for his lofty charity, and, under the seal of confession,told him all. The priest was horrified by the story. Divine mercyis boundless, but human forgiveness has its limits. He refusedVaninka the absolution she asked. This refusal was terrible: itwould banish Vaninka from the Holy Table; this banishment would benoticed, and could not fail to be attributed to some unheard-of andsecret crime. Vaninka fell at the feet of the priest, and in thename of her father, who would be disgraced by her shame, begged himto mitigate the rigour of this sentence.

The confessor reflected deeply, then thought he had found a way toobviate such consequences. It was that Vaninka should approach theHoly Table with the other young girls; the priest would stop beforeher as before all the others, but only say to her, "Pray and weep";the congregation, deceived by this, would think that she had receivedthe Sacrament like her companions. This was all that Vaninka couldobtain.

This confession took place about seven o'clock in the evening, andthe solitude of the church, added to the darkness of night, had givenit a still more awful character. The confessor returned home, paleand trembling. His wife Elizabeth was waiting for him alone. Shehad just put her little daughter Arina, who was eight years old, tobed in an adjoining room. When she saw her husband, she uttered acry of terror, so changed and haggard was his appearance. Theconfessor tried to reassure her, but his trembling voice onlyincreased her alarm. She asked the cause of his agitation; theconfessor refused to tell her. Elizabeth had heard the eveningbefore that her mother was ill; she thought that her husband hadreceived some bad news. The day was Monday, which is considered anunlucky day among the Russians, and, going out that day, Elizabethhad met a man in mourning; these omens were too numerous and toostrong not to portend misfortune.

Elizabeth burst into tears, and cried out, "My mother is dead!"

The priest in vain tried to reassure her by telling her that hisagitation was not due to that. The poor woman, dominated by oneidea, made no response to his protestations but this everlasting cry,"My mother is dead!"

Then, to bring her to reason, the confessor told her that his emotionwas due to the avowal of a crime which he had just heard in theconfessional. But Elizabeth shook her head: it was a trick, shesaid, to hide from her the sorrow which had fallen upon her. Heragony, instead of calming, became more violent; her tears ceased toflow, and were followed by hysterics. The priest then made her swearto keep the secret, and the sanctity of the confession was betrayed.

Little Arina had awakened at Elizabeth's cries, and being disturbedand at the same time curious as to what her parents were doing, shegot up, went to listen at the door, and heard all.

The day for the Communion came; the church of St. Simeon was crowded.Vaninka came to kneel at the railing of the choir. Behind her washer father and his aides-de-camp, and behind them their servants.

Arina was also in the church with her mother. The inquisitive childwished to see Vaninka, whose name she had heard pronounced thatterrible night, when her father had failed in the first and mostsacred of the duties imposed on a priest. While her mother waspraying, she left her chair and glided among the worshippers, nearlyas far as the railing.

But when she had arrived there, she was stopped by the group of thegeneral's servants. But Arina had not come so far to be, stopped soeasily: she tried to push between them, but they opposed her; shepersisted, and one of them pushed her roughly back. The child fell,struck her head against a seat, and got up bleeding and crying, "Youare very proud for a slave. Is it because you belong to the greatlady who burnt the Red House?"

These words, uttered in a loud voice, in the midst of the silencewhich preceded, the sacred ceremony, were heard by everyone. Theywere answered by a shriek. Vaninka had fainted. The next day thegeneral, at the feet of Paul, recounted to him, as his sovereign andjudge, the whole terrible story, which Vaninka, crushed by her longstruggle, had at last revealed to him, at night, after the scene inthe church.

The emperor remained for a moment in thought at the end of thisstrange confession; then, getting up from the chair where he had beensitting while the miserable father told his story, he went to abureau, and wrote on a sheet of paper the following sentence:

"The priest having violated what should have been inviolable, thesecrets of the confessional, is exiled to Siberia and deprived of hispriestly office. His wife will follow him: she is to be blamed fornot having respected his character as a minister of the altar. Thelittle girl will not leave her parents.

"Annouschka, the attendant, will also go to Siberia for not havingmade known to her master his daughter's conduct.

"I preserve all my esteem for the general, and I mourn with him forthe deadly blow which has struck him.

"As for Vaninka, I know of no punishment which can be inflicted uponher. I only see in her the daughter of a brave soldier, whose wholelife has been devoted to the service of his country. Besides, theextraordinary way in which the crime was discovered, seems to placethe culprit beyond the limits of my severity. I leave her punishmentin her own hands. If I understand her character, if any feeling ofdignity remains to her, her heart and her remorse will show her thepath she ought to follow."

Paul handed the paper open to the general, ordering him to take it toCount Pahlen, the governor of St. Petersburg.

On the following day the emperor's orders were carried out.

Vaninka went into a convent, where towards the end of the same yearshe died of shame and grief.

The general found the death he sought on the field of Austerlitz.

CELEBRATED CRIMES VOLUME 8 (of 8), Part 3

By Alexander Dumas, Pere

THE MARQUISE DE GANGES

Toward the close of the year 1657, a very plain carriage, with noarms painted on it, stopped, about eight o'clock one evening, beforethe door of a house in the rue Hautefeuille, at which two othercoaches were already standing. A lackey at once got down to open thecarriage door; but a sweet, though rather tremulous voice stoppedhim, saying, "Wait, while I see whether this is the place."

Then a head, muffled so closely in a black satin mantle that nofeature could be distinguished, was thrust from one of the carriagewindows, and looking around, seemed to seek for some decisive sign onthe house front. The unknown lady appeared to be satisfied by herinspection, for she turned back to her companion.

"It is here," said she. "There is the sign."

As a result of this certainty, the carriage door was opened, the twowomen alighted, and after having once more raised their eyes to astrip of wood, some six or eight feet long by two broad, which wasnailed above the windows of the second storey, and bore theinscription, "Madame Voison, midwife," stole quickly into a passage,the door of which was unfastened, and in which there was just so muchlight as enabled persons passing in or out to find their way alongthe narrow winding stair that led from the ground floor to the fifthstorey.The two strangers, one of whom appeared to be of far higher rank thanthe other, did not stop, as might have been expected, at the doorcorresponding with the inscription that had guided them, but, on thecontrary, went on to the next floor.

Here, upon the landing, was a kind of dwarf, oddly dressed after thefashion of sixteenth-century Venetian buffoons, who, when he saw thetwo women coming, stretched out a wand, as though to prevent themfrom going farther, and asked what they wanted.

"To consult the spirit," replied the woman of the sweet and tremulousvoice.

"Come in and wait," returned the dwarf, lifting a panel of tapestryand ushering the two women into a waiting-room.

The women obeyed, and remained for about half an hour, seeing andhearing nothing. At last a door, concealed by the tapestry, wassuddenly opened; a voice uttered the word "Enter," and the two womenwere introduced into a second room, hung with black, and lightedsolely by a three-branched lamp that hung from the ceiling. The doorclosed behind them, and the clients found themselves face to facewith the sibyl.

She was a woman of about twenty-five or twenty-six, who, unlike otherwomen, evidently desired to appear older than she was. She wasdressed in black; her hair hung in plaits; her neck, arms, and feetwere bare; the belt at her waist was clasped by a large garnet whichthrew out sombre fires. In her hand she held a wand, and she wasraised on a sort of platform which stood for the tripod of theancients, and from which came acrid and penetrating fumes; she was,moreover, fairly handsome, although her features were common, theeyes only excepted, and these, by some trick of the toilet, no doubt,looked inordinately large, and, like the garnet in her belt, emittedstrange lights.

When the two visitors came in, they found the soothsayer leaning herforehead on her hand, as though absorbed in thought. Fearing torouse her from her ecstasy, they waited in silence until it shouldplease her to change her position. At the end of ten minutes sheraised her head, and seemed only now to become aware that two personswere standing before her.

"What is wanted of me again?" she asked, "and shall I have rest onlyin the grave?"

"Forgive me, madame," said the sweet-voiced unknown, "but I amwishing to know----"

"Silence!" said the sibyl, in a solemn voice. "I will not know youraffairs. It is to the spirit that you must address yourself; he is ajealous spirit, who forbids his secrets to be shared; I can but prayto him for you, and obey his will."

At these words, she left her tripod, passed into an adjoining room,and soon returned, looking even paler and more anxious than before,and carrying in one hand a burning chafing dish, in the other a redpaper. The three flames of the lamp grew fainter at the same moment,and the room was left lighted up only by the chafing dish; everyobject now assumed a fantastic air that did not fail to disquiet thetwo visitors, but it was too late to draw back.

The soothsayer placed the chafing dish in the middle of the room,presented the paper to the young woman who had spoken, and said toher--

"Write down what you wish to know."

The woman took the paper with a steadier hand than might have beenexpected, seated herself at a table, and wrote:--

"Am I young? Am I beautiful? Am I maid, wife, or widow? This isfor the past.

"Shall I marry, or marry again? Shall I live long, or shall I dieyoung? This is for the future."

Then, stretching out her hand to the soothsayer, she asked--

"What am I to do now with this?"

"Roll that letter around this ball," answered the other, handing tothe unknown a little ball of virgin wax. "Both ball and letter willbe consumed in the flame before your eyes; the spirit knows yoursecrets already. In three days you will have the answer."

The unknown did as the sibyl bade her; then the latter took from herhands the ball and the paper in which it was wrapped, and went andthrew both into the chafing pan.

" And now all is done as it should be," said the soothsayer."Comus!"

The dwarf came in.

"See the lady to her coach."

The stranger left a purse upon the table, and followed Comus. Heconducted her and her companion, who was only a confidential maid,down a back staircase, used as an exit, and leading into a differentstreet from that by which the two women had come in; but thecoachman, who had been told beforehand of this circumstance, wasawaiting them at the door, and they had only to step into theircarriage, which bore them rapidly away in the direction of the rueDauphine.

Three days later, according to the promise given her, the fairunknown, when she awakened, found on the table beside her a letter inan unfamiliar handwriting; it was addressed "To the beautifulProvencale," and contained these words--

"You are young; you are beautiful; you are a widow. This is for thepresent.

"You will marry again; you will die young, and by a violent death.This is for the future. THE SPIRIT."

The answer was written upon a paper like that upon which thequestions had been set down.

The marquise turned pale and uttered a faint cry of terror; theanswer was so perfectly correct in regard to the past as to call up afear that it might be equally accurate in regard to the future.

The truth is that the unknown lady wrapped in a mantle whom we haveescorted into the modern sibyl's cavern was no other than thebeautiful Marie de Rossan, who before her marriage had borne the nameof Mademoiselle de Chateaublanc, from that of an estate belonging toher maternal grandfather, M. Joannis de Nocheres, who owned a fortuneof five to six hundred thousand livres. At the age of thirteen--thatis to say, in 1649--she had married the Marquis de Castellane, agentleman of very high birth, who claimed to be descended from Johnof Castille, the son of Pedro the Cruel, and from Juana de Castro,his mistress. Proud of his young wife's beauty, the Marquis deCastellane, who was an officer of the king's galleys, had hastened topresent her at court. Louis XIV, who at the time of her presentationwas barely twenty years old, was struck by her enchanting face, andto the great despair of the famous beauties of the day danced withher three times in one evening. Finally, as a crowning touch to herreputation, the famous Christina of Sweden, who was then at theFrench court, said of her that she had never, in any of the kingdomsthrough which she had passed, seen anything equal to "the beautifulProvencale." This praise had been so well received, that the name of"the beautiful Provencale" had clung to Madame de Castellane, and shewas everywhere known by it.

This favour of Louis XIV and this summing up of Christina's had beenenough to bring the Marquise de Castellane instantly into fashion;and Mignard, who had just received a patent of nobility and been madepainter to the king, put the seal to her celebrity by asking leave topaint her portrait. That portrait still exists, and gives a perfectnotion of the beauty which it represents; but as the portrait is farfrom our readers' eyes, we will content ourselves by repeating, inits own original words, the one given in 1667 by the author of apamphlet published at Rouen under the following title: True andPrincipal Circumstances of the Deplorable Death of Madame theMarquise de Ganges:

[Note: It is from this pamphlet, and from the Account of the Death ofMadame the Marquise de Ganges, formerly Marquise de Castellane, thatwe have borrowed the principal circumstances of this tragic story.To these documents we must add--that we may not be constantlyreferring our readers to original sources--the Celebrated Trials byGuyot de Pitaval, the Life of Marie de Rossan, and the Lettresgalantes of Madame Desnoyers.]

"Her complexion, which was of a dazzling whiteness, was illumined bynot too brilliant a red, and art itself could not have arranged moreskilfully the gradations by which this red joined and merged into thewhiteness of the complexion. The brilliance of her face washeightened by the decided blackness of her hair, growing, as thoughdrawn by a painter of the finest taste, around a well proportionedbrow; her large, well opened eyes were of the same hue as her hair,and shone with a soft and piercing flame that rendered it impossibleto gaze upon her steadily; the smallness, the shape, the turn of hermouth, and, the beauty of her teeth were incomparable; the positionand the regular proportion of her nose added to her beauty such anair of dignity, as inspired a respect for her equal to the love thatmight be inspired by her beauty; the rounded contour of her face,produced by a becoming plumpness, exhibited all the vigour andfreshness of health; to complete her charms, her glances, themovements of her lips and of her head, appeared to be guided by thegraces; her shape corresponded to the beauty of her face; lastly, herarms, her hands, her bearing, and her gait were such that nothingfurther could be wished to complete the agreeable presentment of abeautiful woman."

[Note: All her contemporaries, indeed, are in agreement as to hermarvellous beauty; here is a second portrait of the marquise,delineated in a style and manner still more characteristic of thatperiod:--

"You will remember that she had a complexion smoother and finer thana mirror, that her whiteness was so well commingled with the livelyblood as to produce an exact admixture never beheld elsewhere, andimparting to her countenance the tenderest animation; her eyes andhair were blacker than jet; her eyes, I say, of which the gaze couldscarce, from their excess of lustre, be supported, which have beencelebrated as a miracle of tenderness and sprightliness, which havegiven rise, a thousand times, to the finest compliments of the day,and have been the torment of many a rash man, must excuse me, if I donot pause longer to praise them, in a letter; her mouth was thefeature of her face which compelled the most critical to avow thatthey had seen none of equal perfection, and that, by its shape, itssmallness, and its brilliance, it might furnish a pattern for allthose others whose sweetness and charms had been so highly vaunted;her nose conformed to the fair proportion of all her features; itwas, that is to say, the finest in the world; the whole shape of herface was perfectly round, and of so charming a fullness that such anassemblage of beauties was never before seen together. Theexpression of this head was one of unparalleled sweetness and of amajesty which she softened rather by disposition than by study; herfigure was opulent, her speech agreeable, her step noble, herdemeanour easy, her temper sociable, her wit devoid of malice, andfounded upon great goodness of heart."]

It is easy to understand that a woman thus endowed could not, in acourt where gallantry was more pursued than in any other spot in theworld, escape the calumnies of rivals; such calumnies, however, neverproduced any result, so correctly, even in the absence of herhusband, did the marquise contrive to conduct herself; her cold andserious conversation, rather concise than lively, rather solid thanbrilliant, contrasted, indeed, with the light turn, the capriciousand fanciful expressions employed by the wits of that time; theconsequence was that those who had failed to succeed with her, triedto spread a report that the marquise was merely a beautiful idol,virtuous with the virtue of a statue. But though such things mightbe said and repeated in the absence of the marquise, from the momentthat she appeared in a drawing-room, from the moment that herbeautiful eyes and sweet smile added their indefinable expression tothose brief, hurried, and sensible words that fell from her lips, themost prejudiced came back to her and were forced to own that God hadnever before created anything that so nearly touched perfection.

She was thus in the enjoyment of a triumph that backbiters failed toshake, and that scandal vainly sought to tarnish, when news came ofthe wreck of the French galleys in Sicilian waters, and of the deathof the Marquis de Castellane, who was in command. The marquise onthis occasion, as usual, displayed the greatest piety and propriety:although she had no very violent passion for her husband, with whomshe had spent scarcely one of the seven years during which theirmarriage had lasted, on receipt of the news she went at once intoretreat, going to live with Madame d'Ampus, her mother-in-law, andceasing not only to receive visitors but also to go out.

Six months after the death of her husband, the marquise receivedletters from her grandfather, M. Joannis de Nocheres, begging her tocome and finish her time of mourning at Avignon. Having beenfatherless almost from childhood, Mademoiselle de Chateaublanc hadbeen brought up by this good old man, whom she loved dearly; shehastened accordingly to accede to his invitation, and preparedeverything for her departure.

This was at the moment when la Voisin, still a young woman, and farfrom having the reputation which she subsequently acquired, was yetbeginning to be talked of. Several friends of the Marquise deCastellane had been to consult her, and had received strangepredictions from her, some of which, either through the art of herwho framed them, or through some odd concurrence of circumstances,had come true. The marquise could not resist the curiosity withwhich various tales that she had heard of this woman's powers hadinspired her, and some days before setting out for Avignon she madethe visit which we have narrated. What answer she received to herquestions we have seen.

The marquise was not superstitious, yet this fatal prophecy impresseditself upon her mind and left behind a deep trace, which neither thepleasure of revisiting her native place, nor the affection of hergrandfather, nor the fresh admiration which she did not fail toreceive, could succeed in removing; indeed, this fresh admiration wasa weariness to the marquise, and before long she begged leave of hergrandfather to retire into a convent and to spend there the lastthree months of her mourning.

It was in that place, and it was with the warmth of these poorcloistered maidens, that she heard a man spoken of for the firsttime, whose reputation for beauty, as a man, was equal to her own, asa woman. This favourite of nature was the sieur de Lenide, Marquisde Ganges, Baron of Languedoc, and governor of Saint-Andre, in thediocese of Uzes. The marquise heard of him so often, and it was sofrequently declared to her that nature seemed to have formed them foreach other, that she began to allow admission to a very strong desireof seeing him. Doubtless, the sieur de Lenide, stimulated by similarsuggestions, had conceived a great wish to meet the marquise; for,having got M. de Nocheres who no doubt regretted her prolongedretreat--to entrust him with a commission for his granddaughter, hecame to the convent parlour and asked for the fair recluse. She,although she had never seen him, recognised him at the first glance;for having never seen so handsome a cavalier as he who now presentedhimself before her, she thought this could be no other than theMarquis de Ganges, of whom people had so often spoken to her.

That which was to happen, happened: the Marquise de Castellane andthe Marquis de Ganges could not look upon each other without loving.Both were young, the marquis was noble and in a good position, themarquise was rich; everything in the match, therefore, seemedsuitable: and indeed it was deferred only for the space of timenecessary to complete the year of mourning, and the marriage wascelebrated towards the beginning of the year 1558. The marquis wastwenty years of age, and the marquise twenty-two.

The beginnings of this union were perfectly happy; the marquis was inlove for the first time, and the marquise did not remember ever tohave been in love. A son and a daughter came to complete theirhappiness. The marquise had entirely forgotten the fatal prediction,or, if she occasionally thought of it now, it was to wonder that shecould ever have believed in it. Such happiness is not of this world,and when by chance it lingers here a while, it seems sent rather bythe anger than by the goodness of God. Better, indeed, would it befor him who possesses and who loses it, never to have known it.

The Marquis de Ganges was the first to weary of this happy life.Little by little he began to miss the pleasures of a young man; hebegan to draw away from the marquise and to draw nearer to his formerfriends. On her part, the marquise, who for the sake of weddedintimacy had sacrificed her habits of social life, threw herself intosociety, where new triumphs awaited her. These triumphs aroused thejealousy of the marquis; but he was too much a man of his century toinvite ridicule by any manifestation; he shut his jealousy into hissoul, and it emerged in a different form on every different occasion.To words of love, so sweet that they seemed the speech of angels,succeeded those bitter and biting utterances that foretellapproaching division. Before long, the marquis and the marquise onlysaw each other at hours when they could not avoid meeting; then, onthe pretext of necessary journeys, and presently without any pretextat all, the marquis would go away for three-quarters of a year, andonce more the marquise found herself widowed. Whatever contemporaryaccount one may consult, one finds them all agreeing to declare thatshe was always the same--that is to say, full of patience, calmness,and becoming behaviour--and it is rare to find such a unanimity ofopinion about a young and beautiful woman.

About this time the marquis, finding it unendurable to be alone withhis wife during the short spaces of time which he spent at home,invited his two brothers, the chevalier and the abbe de Ganges, tocome and live with him. He had a third brother, who, as the secondson, bore the title of comte, and who was colonel of the Languedocregiment, but as this gentleman played no part in this story we shallnot concern ourselves with him.

The abbe de Ganges, who bore that title without belonging to theChurch, had assumed it in order to enjoy its privileges: he was akind of wit, writing madrigals and 'bouts-rimes' [Bouts-rimes areverses written to a given set of rhymes.] on occasion, a handsome manenough, though in moments of impatience his eyes would take astrangely cruel expression; as dissolute and shameless to boot, asthough he had really belonged to the clergy of the period.

The chevalier de Ganges, who shared in some measure the beauty soprofusely showered upon the family, was one of those feeble men whoenjoy their own nullity, and grow on to old age inapt alike for goodand evil, unless some nature of a stronger stamp lays hold on themand drags them like faint and pallid satellites in its wake. Thiswas what befell the chevalier in respect of his brother: submitted toan influence of which he himself was not aware, and against which,had he but suspected it, he would have rebelled with the obstinacy ofa child, he was a machine obedient to the will of another mind and tothe passions of another heart, a machine which was all the moreterrible in that no movement of instinct or of reason could, in hiscase, arrest the impulse given.

Moreover, this influence which the abbe had acquired over thechevalier extended, in some degree also, to the marquis. Having as ayounger son no fortune, having no revenue, for though he wore aChurchman's robes he did not fulfil a Churchman's functions, he hadsucceeded in persuading the marquis, who was rich, not only in theenjoyment of his own fortune, but also in that of his wife, which waslikely to be nearly doubled at the death of M. de Nocheres, that somezealous man was needed who would devote himself to the ordering ofhis house and the management of his property; and had offered himselffor the post. The marquis had very gladly accepted, being, as wehave said, tired by this time of his solitary home life; and the abbehad brought with him the chevalier, who followed him like his shadow,and who was no more regarded than if he had really possessed no body.

The marquise often confessed afterwards that when she first saw thesetwo men, although their outward aspect was perfectly agreeable, shefelt herself seized by a painful impression, and that the fortune-teller's prediction of a violent death, which she had so longforgotten, gashed out like lightning before her eyes. The effect onthe two brothers was not of the same kind: the beauty of the marquisestruck them both, although in different ways. The chevalier was inecstasies of admiration, as though before a beautiful statue, but theimpression that she made upon him was that which would have been madeby marble, and if the chevalier had been left to himself theconsequences of this admiration would have been no less harmless.Moreover, the chevalier did not attempt either to exaggerate or toconceal this impression, and allowed his sister-in-law to see in whatmanner she struck him. The abbe, on the contrary, was seized atfirst sight with a deep and violent desire to possess this woman--themost beautiful whom he had ever met; but being as perfectly capableof mastering his sensations as the chevalier was incapable, he merelyallowed such words of compliment to escape him as weigh neither withhim who utters nor her who hears them; and yet, before the close ofthis first interview, the abbe had decided in his irrevocable willthat this woman should be his.

As for the marquise, although the impression produced by her twobrothers-in-law could never be entirely effaced, the wit of the abbe,to which he gave, with amazing facility, whatever turn he chose, andthe complete nullity of the chevalier brought her to certain feelingsof less repulsion towards them: for indeed the marquise had one ofthose souls which never suspect evil, as long as it will take thetrouble to assume any veil at all of seeming, and which onlyrecognise it with regret when it resumes its true shape.

Meanwhile the arrival of these two new inmates soon spread a littlemore life and gaiety through the house. Furthermore; greatly to theastonishment of the marquise, her husband, who had so long beenindifferent to her beauty, seemed to remark afresh that she was toocharming to be despised; his words accordingly began little by littleto express an affection that had long since gradually disappearedfrom them. The marquise had never ceased to love him; she hadsuffered the loss of his love with resignation, she hailed its returnwith joy, and three months elapsed that resembled those which hadlong ceased to be more to the poor wife than a distant and half-worn-out memory.

Thus she had, with the supreme facility of youth, always ready to behappy, taken up her gladness again, without even asking what geniushad brought back to her the treasure which she had thought lost, whenshe received an invitation from a lady of the neighbourhood to spendsome days in her country house. Her husband and her two brothers-in-law, invited with her, were of the party, and accompanied her.A great hunting party had been arranged beforehand, and almostimmediately upon arriving everyone began to prepare for taking partin it.

The abbe, whose talents had made him indispensable in every company,declared that for that day he was the marquise's cavalier, a titlewhich his sister-in-law, with her usual amiability, confirmed. Eachof the huntsmen, following this example, made choice of a lady towhom to dedicate his attentions throughout the day; then, thischivalrous arrangement being completed, all present directed theircourse towards the place of meeting.

That happened which almost always happens the dogs hunted on theirown account. Two or three sportsmen only followed the dogs; the restgot lost. The abbe, in his character of esquire to the marquise, hadnot left her for a moment, and had managed so cleverly that he wasalone with her--an opportunity which he had been seeking for a monthpreviously with no less care--than the marquise had been using toavoid it. No sooner, therefore, did the marquise believe herselfaware that the abbe had intentionally turned aside from the hunt thanshe attempted to gallop her horse in the opposite direction from thatwhich she had been following; but the abbe stopped her. The marquiseneither could nor would enter upon a struggle; she resigned herself,therefore, to hearing what the abbe had to say to her, and her faceassumed that air of haughty disdain which women so well know how toput on when they wish a man to understand that he has nothing to hopefrom them. There was an instant's silence; the abbe was the first tobreak it.

"Madame," said he, "I ask your pardon for having used this means tospeak to you alone; but since, in spite of my rank of brother-in-law,you did not seem inclined to grant me that favour if I had asked it,I thought it would be better for me, to deprive you of the power torefuse it me."

"If you have hesitated to ask me so simple a thing, monsieur,"replied the marquise, "and if you have taken such precautions tocompel me to listen to you, it must, no doubt, be because you knewbeforehand that the words you had to say to me were such as I couldnot hear. Have the goodness, therefore, to reflect, before you openthis conversation, that here as elsewhere I reserve the right--and Iwarn you of it--to interrupt what you may say at the moment when itmay cease to seem to me befitting."

"As to that, madame," said the abbe, "I think I can answer for itthat whatever it may please me to say to you, you will hear to theend; but indeed the matters are so simple that there is no need tomake you uneasy beforehand: I wished to ask you, madame, whether youhave perceived a change in the conduct of your husband towards you."

"Yes, monsieur," replied the marquise, "and no single day has passedin which I have not thanked Heaven for this happiness."

"And you have been wrong, madame," returned the abbe, with one ofthose smiles that were peculiar to himself; "Heaven has nothing to dowith it. Thank Heaven for having made you the most beautiful andcharming of women, and that will be enough thanksgiving withoutdespoiling me of such as belong to my share."

"I do not understand you, monsieur," said the marquise in an icytone.

"Well, I will make myself comprehensible, my dear sister-in-law. Iam the worker of the miracle for which you are thanking Heaven; to metherefore belongs your gratitude. Heaven is rich enough not to robthe poor."

"You are right, monsieur: if it is really to you that I owe thisreturn, the cause of which I did not know, I will thank you in thefirst place; and then afterwards I will thank Heaven for havinginspired you with this good thought."

"Yes," answered the abbe, "but Heaven, which has inspired me with agood thought, may equally well inspire me with a bad one, if the goodthought does not bring me what I expect from it."

"What do you mean, monsieur?"

"That there has never been more than one will in the family, and thatwill is mine; that the minds of my two brothers turn according to thefancy of that will like weathercocks before the wind, and that he whohas blown hot can blow cold."

"I am still waiting for you to explain yourself, monsieur."

"Well, then, my dear sister-in-law, since you are pleased not tounderstand me, I will explain myself more clearly. My brother turnedfrom you through jealousy; I wished to give you an idea of my powerover him, and from extreme indifference I have brought him back, byshowing him that he suspected you wrongly, to the ardours of thewarmest love. Well, I need only tell him that I was mistaken, andfix his wandering suspicions upon any man whatever, and I shall takehim away from you, even as I have brought him back. I need give youno proof of what I say; you know perfectly well that I am speakingthe truth."

"And what object had you, in acting this part?"

"To prove to you, madame, that at my will I can cause you to be sador joyful, cherished or neglected, adored or hated. Madame, listento me: I love you."

"You insult me, monsieur!" cried the marquise, trying to withdraw thebridle of her horse from the abbe's hands.

"No fine words, my dear sister-in-law; for, with me, I warn you, theywill be lost. To tell a woman one loves her is never an insult; onlythere are a thousand different ways of obliging her to respond tothat love. The error is to make a mistake in the way that oneemploys--that is the whole of the matter."

"And may I inquire which you have chosen?" asked the marquise, with acrushing smile of contempt.

"The only one that could succeed with a calm, cold, strong woman likeyou, the conviction that your interest requires you to respond to mylove."

"Since you profess to know me so well," answered the marquise, withanother effort, as unsuccessful as the former, to free the bridle ofher horse, "you should know how a woman like me would receive such anoverture; say to yourself what I might say to you, and above all,what I might say to my husband."

The abbe smiled.

"Oh, as to that," he returned, "you can do as you please, madame.Tell your husband whatever you choose; repeat our conversation wordfor word; add whatever your memory may furnish, true or false, thatmay be most convincing against me; then, when you have thoroughlygiven him his cue, when you think yourself sure of him, I will saytwo words to him, and turn him inside out like this glove. That iswhat I had to say to you, madame I will not detain you longer. Youmay have in me a devoted friend or a mortal enemy. Reflect."

At these words the abbe loosed his hold upon the bridle of themarquise's horse and left her free to guide it as she would. Themarquise put her beast to a trot, so as to show neither fear norhaste. The abbe followed her, and both rejoined the hunt.

The abbe had spoken truly. The marquise, notwithstanding the threatwhich she had made, reflected upon the influence which this man hadover her husband, and of which she had often had proof she keptsilence, therefore, and hoped that he had made himself seem worsethan he was, to frighten her. On this point she was strangelymistaken.

The abbe, however, wished to see, in the first place, whether themarquise's refusal was due to personal antipathy or to real virtue.The chevalier, as has been said, was handsome; he had that usage ofgood society which does instead of mind, and he joined to it theobstinacy of a stupid man; the abbe undertook to persuade him that hewas in love with the marquise. It was not a difficult matter. Wehave described the impression made upon the chevalier by the firstsight of Madame de Ganges; but, owing beforehand the reputation ofausterity that his sister-in-law had acquired, he had not theremotest idea of paying court to her. Yielding, indeed, to theinfluence which she exercised upon all who came in contact with her,the chevalier had remained her devoted servant; and the marquise,having no reason to mistrust civilities which she took for signs offriendliness, and considering his position as her husband's brother,treated him with less circumspection than was her custom.

The abbe sought him out, and, having made sure they were alone, said,"Chevalier, we both love the same woman, and that woman is ourbrother's wife; do not let us thwart each other: I am master of mypassion, and can the more easily sacrifice it to you that I believeyou are the man preferred; try, therefore, to obtain some assuranceof the love which I suspect the marquise of having for you; and fromthe day when you reach that point I will withdraw, but otherwise, ifyou fail, give up your place civilly to me, that I may try, in myturn, whether her heart is really impregnable, as everybody says."

The chevalier had never thought of the possibility of winning themarquise; but from the moment in which his brother, with no apparentmotive of personal interest, aroused the idea that he might bebeloved, every spark of passion and of vanity that still existed inthis automaton took fire, and he began to be doubly assiduous andattentive to his sister-in-law. She, who had never suspected any evilin this quarter, treated the chevalier at first with a kindlinessthat was heightened by her scorn for the abbe. But, before long, thechevalier, misunderstanding the grounds of this kindliness, explainedhimself more clearly. The marquise, amazed and at first incredulous,allowed him to say enough to make his intentions perfectly clear;then she stopped him, as she had done the abbe, by some of thosegalling words which women derive from their indifference even morethan from their virtue.

At this check, the chevalier, who was far from possessing hisbrother's strength and determination, lost all hope, and camecandidly to own to the latter the sad result of his attentions andhis love. This was what the abbe had awaited, in the first place forthe satisfaction of his own vanity, and in the second place for themeans of carrying out his schemes. He worked upon the chevalier'shumiliation until he had wrought it into a solid hatred; and then,sure of having him for a supporter and even for an accomplice, hebegan to put into execution his plan against the marquise.

The consequence was soon shown in a renewal of alienation on the partof M. de Ganges. A young man whom the marquise sometimes met insociety, and to whom, on account of his wit, she listened perhaps alittle more willingly than to others, became, if not the cause, atleast the excuse of a fresh burst of jealousy. This jealousy wasexhibited as on previous occasions, by quarrels remote from the realgrievance; but the marquise was not deceived: she recognised in thischange the fatal hand of her brother-in-law. But this certainty,instead of drawing her towards him, increased her repulsion; andthenceforward she lost no opportunity of showing him not only thatrepulsion but also the contempt that accompanied it.

Matters remained in this state for some months. Every day themarquise perceived her husband growing colder, and although the spieswere invisible she felt herself surrounded by a watchfulness thattook note of the most private details of her life. As to the abbeand the chevalier, they were as usual; only the abbe had hidden hishate behind a smile that was habitual, and the chevalier hisresentment behind that cold and stiff dignity in which dull mindsenfold themselves when they believe themselves injured in theirvanity.

In the midst of all this, M. Joannis de Nocheres died, and added tothe already considerable fortune of his granddaughter another fortuneof from six to seven hundred thousand livres.

This additional wealth became, on accruing to the marquise, what wasthen called, in countries where the Roman law prevailed, a'paraphernal' estate that is to say that, falling in, after marriage?it was not included in the dowry brought by the wife, and that shecould dispose freely both of the capital and the income, which mightnot be administered even by her husband without a power of attorney,and of which she could dispose at pleasure, by donation or by will.And in fact, a few days after the marquise had entered intopossession of her grandfather's estate, her husband and his brotherslearned that she had sent for a notary in order to be instructed asto her rights. This step betokened an intention of separating thisinheritance from the common property of the marriage; for thebehaviour of the marquis towards his wife--of which within himself heoften recognised the injustice--left him little hope of any otherexplanation.

About this time a strange event happened. At a dinner given by themarquise, a cream was served at dessert: all those who partook ofthis cream were ill; the marquis and his two brothers, who had nottouched it, felt no evil effects. The remainder of this cream, whichwas suspected of having caused illness to the guests, andparticularly to the marquise, who had taken of it twice, wasanalysed, and the presence of arsenic in it demonstrated. Only,having been mixed with milk, which is its antidote, the poison hadlost some of its power, and had produced but half the expectedeffect. As no serious disaster had followed this occurrence, theblame was thrown upon a servant, who was said to have mistakenarsenic for sugar, and everybody forgot it, or appeared to forget it.

The marquis, however, seemed to be gradually and naturally drawingnearer again to his wife; but this time Madame de Ganges was notdeceived by his returning kindness. There, as in his alienation, shesaw the selfish hand of the abbe: he had persuaded his brother thatseven hundred thousand livres more in the house would make it worthwhile to overlook some levities of behaviour; and the marquis,obeying the impulse given, was trying, by kind dealing, to oppose hiswife's still unsettled intention of making a will.

Towards the autumn there was talk of going to spend that season atGanges, a little town situated in Lower Languedoc, in the diocese ofMontpellier, seven leagues from that town, and nineteen from Avignon.Although this was natural enough, since the marquis was lord of thetown and had a castle there, the marquise was seized by a strangeshudder when she heard the proposal. Remembrance of the predictionmade to her returned immediately to her mind. The recent and illexplained attempt to poison her, too, very naturally added to herfears.

Without directly and positively suspecting her brothers-in-law ofthat crime, she knew that in them she had two implacable enemies.This journey to a little town, this abode in a lonely castle, amidnew, unknown neighbours, seemed to her of no good omen; but openopposition would have been ridiculous. On what grounds, indeed,could she base resistance? The marquise could only own her terrorsby accusing her husband and her brothers-in-law. And of what couldshe accuse them? The incident of the poisoned cream was not aconclusive proof. She resolved accordingly to lock up all her fearsin her heart, and to commit herself to the hands of God.

Nevertheless, she would not leave Avignon without signing the willwhich she had contemplated making ever since M. de Nocheres' death.A notary was called in who drew up the document. The Marquise deGanges made her mother, Madame de Rossan, her sole inheritor, andleft in her charge the duty of choosing between the testatrix's twochildren as to which of them should succeed to the estate. These twochildren were, one a boy of six years old, the other a girl of five.But this was not enough for the marquise, so deep was her impressionthat she would not survive this fatal journey; she gathered together,secretly and at night, the magistrates of Avignon and several personsof quality, belonging to the first families of the town, and there,before them, verbally at first, declared that, in case of her death,she begged the honourable witnesses whom she had assembled onpurpose, not to recognise as valid, voluntary, or freely writtenanything except the will which she had signed the day before, andaffirmed beforehand that any later will which might be produced wouldbe the effect of fraud or of violence. Then, having made this verbaldeclaration, the marquise repeated it in writing, signed the papercontaining it, and gave the paper to be preserved by the honour ofthose whom she constituted its guardians. Such a precaution, takenwith such minute detail, aroused the lively curiosity of her hearers.Many pressing questions were put to the marquise, but nothing couldbe extracted from her except that she had reasons for her actionwhich she could not declare. The cause of this assemblage remained asecret, and every person who formed part of it promised the marquisenot to reveal it.

On the next day, which was that preceding her departure for Ganges,the marquise visited all the charitable institutions and religiouscommunities in Avignon; she left liberal alms everywhere, with therequest that prayers and masses should be said for her, in order toobtain from God's grace that she should not be suffered to diewithout receiving the sacraments of the Church. In the evening, shetook leave of all her friends with the affection and the tears of aperson convinced that she was bidding them a last farewell; andfinally she spent the whole night in prayer, and the maid who came towake her found her kneeling in the same spot where she, had left herthe night before.

The family set out for Ganges; the journey was performed withoutaccident. On reaching the castle, the marquise found her mother-in-law there; she was a woman of remarkable distinction and piety, andher presence, although it was to be but temporary, reassured the poorfearful marquise a little. Arrangements had been made beforehand atthe old castle, and the most convenient and elegant of the rooms hadbeen assigned to the marquise; it was on the first floor, and lookedout upon a courtyard shut in on all sides by stables.

On the first evening that she was to sleep here, the marquiseexplored the room with the greatest attention. She inspected thecupboards, sounded the walls, examined the tapestry, and foundnothing anywhere that could confirm her terrors, which, indeed, fromthat time began to decrease. At the end of a certain time; however,the marquis's mother left Ganges to return to Montpellier. Two, daysafter her departure, the marquis talked of important business whichrequired him to go back to Avignon, and he too left the castle. Themarquise thus remained alone with the abbe, the chevalier, and a